Hold Your Applause
by Sierra Phoenix
Summary: A conversation between Lilith and the Trickster. Spoilers for 3.16.


**Title: **Hold Your Applause  
**Author:** Sierra Phoenix  
**Words: **1,519  
**Spoilers: **'No Rest for the Wicked' (3.16)  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.  
**Summary: **A conversation between Lilith and the Trickster.

* * *

She doesn't like the way this body fits. It's like a cheap suit, too tight in places and too loose in others. It's a mockery of her true self...and it itches just a little.

She catches sight of a mirror and grimaces to see that her new forms looks just as bad as it feels. Graying, careworn, far less fresh than she's used to, and when she inhales, she has to choke back a gag at the overpowering stench of flowery perfume. Her host must have drenched herself in it.

Her clothes are equally tasteless, not practical and sleek like Ruby's hunter attire nor sweet and lacey as the doll-like dresses of little girls. No, this dress is garish, some gaudy print that would be better suited to curtains or a rug - the kind of rug you'd use to roll up a dead body.

She scratches at the bare flesh of her upper arm, digging her nails in deep until blood wells up and down her elbow and into her hand. It gives her a small sense of satisfaction. Maybe if she turns this body inside out, it wouldn't be such a chore to wear. She's always looked better in red anyway.

A sudden, loud clapping from the other side of the room startles her. She _flinches_, much to her shame. That damn Winchester mongrel rattled her more than she'd like to admit.

Still, she doesn't spin around at the sound. She's not _afraid_. She composes herself and turns, with deliberate slowness, to face the room's new occupant. After all, she is _Lilith_. She doesn't cower before _anyone._

"Oh, it's _you_." She decides she hates the sound of this body's voice, too.

"Ah, now, you don't sound very happy to see me. I only came by to congratulate you." The smirk on his face says otherwise.

He leans casually against the doorframe, his human form as unassuming as ever, and Lilith's lips curl back in disgust.

He's the _slacker_ of the demon population, an underachiever. With his kind of power, he could do great things for their kind, but he's too preoccupied with his _tricks_. Nothing more than child's play.

"I mean, the way you dispatched Dean, ripped him to shreds like that, that was just...inspired. All the times I killed him, and yet I never tried that one. And I had plenty of practice, a few hundred times at least. But who's counting?"

"Obviously you are."

He grins. "Yeah, well...he's just such a fun guy to kill."

It's all just a game to him. A joke. He doesn't revel in the feel of blood and entrails on his hands the way _she_ does.

"I'm just better at it than you are. I got it right on the first try. He won't be coming back this time."

"Yep." He concedes too easily, a wry chuckle escaping from his lips. "Sent good ole Dean-o packin' straight to hell. Well done there." Once again, the expression on his face contradicts his words. He's laughing at her, she realizes, and it makes her want to gouge his eyes out with her fingers.

"But I have to say my favorite part is when you tucked your tail between your legs and ran away like a scared little dog being smacked with a rolled up newspaper." He pauses, donning a mock-sympathetic face. "Was little Sammy-Sam mean to you?"

"I didn't run," she growls.

"Yeah, I think the term 'flee' is appropriate. And now here you are, shaking in your little pink bunny slippers. You're quite the show stopper."

Her gaze drops to the floor before she can stop herself, and, damn, she really _did_ take a body wearing bunny slippers, for Lucifer's sake.

Annoyance wells up in her, like blood in the lungs gurgling up and spilling out someone's mouth. It must show on her face because he laughs, guffaws even.

"I didn't want to kill him too quickly. Half the fun is watching him cry over his dead brother."

He stops laughing abruptly. "Oh, honey. Don't try to pull one over on someone who's a master of disguises. I'd hate to have to knock you off your high horse."

She tilts her head, squinting at him just a little. That was almost...menacing. Had there been a real threat in his words? But just as quickly he starts laughing again.

"I'm sorry, I just can't get over the slippers."

"I don't know what you're so damn cheerful about." _She_ had been the one to kill Dean Winchester, so why did it seem like _he_ was the one gloating.

"Well, I have reason to be. After all, I'm not the one in Sam Winchester's crosshairs. And take it from me, that is not a place you want to be. He redefines the word 'persistent'."

"And yet, you're still here to talk about it. If _you_ can manage him, I don't think I'll have any problems."

"But _I_ didn't send Dean to hell. Not really anyway. Even during those months while I had Dean," he grins, "_otherwise_ occupied, Sam held on to the hope, deep at the back of his mind, that maybe it all wasn't real. I could give him back his brother.

"You, on the other hand...you might have put on too good of a show."

She scoffs. "Sounds like you're jealous."

His expression turns dark, all traces of humor gone. "Make no mistake, you've got one pissed off little brother Winchester on your hands, and now he's got nothing better to do than hunt you down and wipe you out of existence. He won't stop until it's done."

An unfamiliar feeling settles in her gut, cold and heavy, twisting her insides into a knot. Was this what fear felt like? She'd never had occasion to know before, but now...

She'd thrown everything she'd had at him, intended to burn him out of existence, yet he remained untouched. _How_?

The next words that tumble out of her mouth surprise her, "Help me."

He moves away from the wall, toward her, pinning her with his dark, unflinching gaze. She has to fight the urge to step back. It's dangerous, showing such weakness. He's a demigod, after all, and it's possible she just bared her neck to something as likely to rip her throat out as not. Camaraderie among demons only holds as long as everyone knows their place in the order of things. You don't talk what you can't walk and you don't give lesser demons a chance to cut you down when you're at your most vulnerable.

Tricksters are notoriously difficult to predict. They prey on humans most often because it's all too easy to find the ridiculously arrogant among their species. But that doesn't mean they never turn their eye on the stray demon who thinks a little too well of himself and much too little of his fellow demons.

Not that she doesn't think she could take him, but then, no one really knows the extent of a trickster's power. They're content with their jokes, never applying themselves with any real sincerity.

But he seems entirely sincere now when he says, "You got yourself into this mess, now get yourself out it. Before you drag the rest of us down with you."

Before she has time to register her shock, his mood shifts again, a grin lighting up his face like a manic on the upswing. "Cheer up, kiddo. If you want to bargain, you just got to have something he wants. And you've got Dean."

Her stomach turns. The words were so similar to the ones she'd spoken to Sam mere hours ago, and now here they are being thrown back in her face.

"Dean's your ace in the hole," he continues, "so you better make sure you don't tarnish his armor too much. Sam might decide he doesn't want damaged goods, and then where would you be?"

"If you would just help me instead of-"

"What makes you think I have any interest in _you_ at all? Besides, Dean's much more fun to play with when he's alive." He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

She stares at him, puzzled. If he isn't trying to help _her_, then... "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were scared of them. Or," she pauses, letting the distaste wash over her, "that you _liked_ them." It doesn't make any sense, and yet the idea holds a grain of plausibility.

His lips quirk enigmatically. "They amuse me."

And then he's gone.

Damn Tricksters. They're a total loss, no redeeming value at all. Only a Trickster would root for a hunter.

Still, she can't shake his words. She feels fear gnawing in her chest, and it makes her want to tear into the rib cage of her host's body and rip its thundering heart out. She curls her hands into fists, letting her nails dig deep into the palms, relishing in the pain and trying to block out this new sensation of fear. She doesn't like the way it feels.

No...she doesn't like it at all.

END


End file.
